


Styles of Dance

by Skalidra



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Blow Jobs, Grinding, Hand Jobs, JayRoy Week, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 11:29:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8487613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skalidra/pseuds/Skalidra
Summary: Roy's at a party, waiting for the chance to take a shot at his assigned target and killing time until he can, when he sees someone who doesn't quite fit into the rest of the crowd. A conversation turns into a dance, which turns into an entirely different kind of dance.





	

**Author's Note:**

> And we're onto day 4! The prompt for this one was 'Moving Together.' Sorry it's a little late; had a hell of a day yesterday. (In a good way!) So, I think the prompt was probably actually supposed to be like, 'moving _in_ together', but I like this version better. This is absolutely and entirely inspired by the tango scene from Mr. and Mrs. Smith. Enjoy.

Roy takes another small sip from his champagne flute, the one he’s been nursing all night to fit in at the party. It’s sort of like flirting with danger, given his apparent talent for addiction, but flirting with danger is his whole _life_ , so really nothing’s out of the ordinary there.

Well, flirting with danger or killing it. Those are generally his two paths; one sometimes preceding the other in some way.

He steals a glance across the room as he turns, letting his eyes pass over the crowd and — near the center of it — his target. He’s going to have to get him out of the center of attention at some point, unless he’s really willing to hang out at this party all night. Eventually, sure, the target — host of the party — will either retire or follow someone pretty out to a more secluded corner. He could be that someone pretty, if he wants to put in the effort to seduce the mostly-straight man.

That’s one option.

His gaze catches on something else as he finishes turning; the walk of a man heading past him, maybe a dozen feet away. Something is off, pings at his awareness, and he pays attention because that’s a good way to avoid terrible accidents. There’s something in the way the man — just over six feet, short black hair, blue-green eyes, _impeccable_ suit — is moving, the way his head is turned and idly watching the dance floor in the center of the room… Or looking _past_ it.

Another sip of the champagne, and then he swaps it to his other hand so when the man’s path takes him by he can slide a hand out and pull at the edge of his jacket to make him turn. He’s utterly startled when, at the _exact_ same moment, there’s a sharp tug at his own suit.

He turns as the other man does, looking up, and meets a similarly startled gaze. There's a moment of pause, and then he shifts back almost in sync with the other man and gives a small laugh as he gets a crooked smile.

"Sorry," the guy says, through the smile. "Did I hit you? You okay?"

He answers, "No, no," as the guy reaches out towards the part of his jacket that was tugged out of place. "My elbow must have caught you or something, no problem." He shifts away from the reaching hand in the guise of reaching to smooth the guy's jacket down to his hip. It follows him though, touching his side and bringing his own jacket back into place.

He feels the angle of a knife tucked into the hollow of a hip. Knows, by the path of the hand slipping down his side, that the shape of the knife he has strapped in beneath his jacket is equally obvious.

He smiles. The man smiles back.

"Roy," he offers.

"Jason. I haven't seen you around here before."

"You must be new then," he counters, stepping a little bit closer and bringing his glass up with his free hand to take a drink, tilting himself to bring his side away from the hand lingering on it as he slides his own hand further around Jason's waist. Finds a gun tucked at the small of his back. "Looking to make a _loud_ entrance?"

Jason swings away from his hand, pulling the gun out of reach and turning into him. "Thinking about it. Real explosive, maybe; if I get bored."

He draws half a step away to keep a small distance between them, smiling over his glass. "Not sure most of the crowd here would be interested in that; us experienced types tend to prefer the value of subtlety and precision when it comes to making new friends." He sighs, steps away towards one of the smaller tables scattered around the room. "Newcomers are always in such a rush to get things done."

Jason follows him, standing at his side as he sets his glass down. "Gets done faster that way. Amazing how that works, huh?"

"I'd take a little extra time over unfriendly attention any day," he says, as he turns to face Jason. "You're what, twenty?"

"Depends who you ask." Jason steals his glass from the table, takes a sip through the curl of a rough smile. "Twenty-five?"

“Sounds about right.” He watches Jason swallow, watches the way his gaze flicks off to the side and across the room. Familiar direction there. "Sure you should be drinking then, or are you twenty-one right now?"

The glass is set down. "Well, you sure don't look like law enforcement, so does it matter?" One hand is offered to him, along with a not entirely friendly smile. "Care to dance, old-timer?"

"I'm a long way from being _that_ old," he corrects, but he takes the hand. Strong grip, calluses, and the nick of a scar near the base of his wrist. New, but not inexperienced. "So how long have you been drinking, Jason?"

Jason leads him towards the center of the dance floor, gaze flicking around to watch other people, but returning to him each time. "Longer than is remotely legal," is the answer, as Jason tugs at his hand and swings him around and up against the slightly larger chest. A hand touches his waist, his finds a shoulder. "And you?" The music is slow, for now. He falls into the easy movements of three-step slow dance.

"Before you knew what alcohol was." Smoothly, he lets his hand slide down and flip Jason's off his waist with an elbow, as he takes sharp control of the dance to spin them so he can take a glance at his target. He slips away from subtle, curling his fingers beneath Jason's jacket and to the handle of a knife there. "Who are you with?"

"Independent," is the simple answer, without a trace of concern for the danger.

"At twenty?" He draws the knife, flicks it up to press flat against Jason's ribs. Still not a hint of concern. "You're either very good or very lucky then. Where'd you start?"

"Put the knife away," Jason says through another crooked smile, fingers tightening on his hand until he has to stifle a wince. "Trained in Gotham; left the fold a ways back. Pays better, and I don't have to stick to antiquated, ineffective rules." Jason leans down towards him, mouth almost brushing his ear as he whispers, "Like not making a mess."

He tugs his hand free from Jason's and raises it to wrap around the back of that neck. His thumb brushes the ridges of a concealed scar on the side of his throat. "Gotham's not the kind of place people usually leave. Heard a few stories though; I've got friends there." He pushes the knife back into its sheath, and twists his head to speak directly into the ear next to it. "That would make you the once-presumed-dead Jason _Todd_ then, wouldn't it?"

A tiny flicker of tension, and he smiles in victory even as it fades again.

"And you're _Harper_ ," Jason counters, free hand finding his waist. "Of the Queens. You're a long way from Star City, aren't you?"

Not surprising; Gotham-created agents have the monopoly on information. Always have. Not many people slip past their networks, and an agent as deeply involved as second-apprentice to their actual leader would have had access to almost all that knowledge.

"Business doesn't have limits on range." He lets go of Jason's neck, pressing him a half step back to reestablish the more proper distance for a dance. "If we each stuck to only our own cities, you wouldn't belong here either.”

"Fair point," Jason concedes, hand taking his again as they slip back into the flow of the dance. "So why are you here then, Roy? I'm guessing your intentions are aimed the same direction as mine, given the glances, but why?"

"Worried I'll beat you there?"

"Maybe I'm not interested in having to get you out of my way." Jason gives a sharper smile, fingers digging into his shoulder in a brief squeeze. "Hate to have to get rid of an attractive man; bonus points for being a good dancer too."

"You haven't seen me dance yet," he promises. "This barely counts." Jason gives a quiet huff of laughter, and he has to stretch up to get his arm over Jason's head when he spins him, but it's worth it. Especially the reverse spin, where he can pull Jason right up against his chest, smiling up the couple of inches. "Information; past that it really depends on what that information is. What about you?"

"Same. But the margin for information that won't get him killed is probably smaller than yours." Using specific gender pronouns; sure sign of inexperience, or not caring that he knows that much more about Jason's intended target. Still doesn't quite solve the question of whether Jason is just that good, or that careless. Given that he's from the Gotham branch, it's probably the former.

"Who hired you?"

Jason laughs a little louder, smile turning into a smirk for just a moment. "Oh, you know I'm not going to tell you that."

He smirks back, echoing, "Fair point."

Jason leans a little closer, presses him back and steals control of the dance's direction. "Maybe we could do this together, hm? I'm not against the idea of a little bit of a partnership, if you're willing to take the dance somewhere a little more private. If, of course…” The hand on his shoulder slides down his arm a little ways, gripping near his elbow. "You're interested in that sort of thing."

"And if what we want doesn't line up?" He pushes back, forces Jason into a shallow dip by hooking one of his legs out from under him, and keeps him suspended in the arch as he whispers, "I'm pretty used to leading."

It's probably a testament to Jason's skill that he's honestly not sure if the flicker of eyes down his chest and back up is actual interest, or just another part of the game. As he pulls Jason up again, the hand on his arm slips around to press against the back of his shoulder, easing into the secondary role as he gets a return murmur of, "Maybe I'm more used to following than you think. And if it doesn't work out… Well, maybe I'd like to see how you really dance. When you don't have to think about the audience."

"Oh yeah?" He tightens his grip on Jason's waist. "I can get pretty rough."

"Rough makes it interesting," comes the counter. "Come on; I can think of at least a couple different ways that two heads are better than one. If it's violence you're worried about, then I'm just going to throw out that you're the one that pulled a knife on me. Just saying."

The song ends, and he doesn't really _want_ to, but he pulls away from Jason and makes himself let go. Jason's hand lingers on his though, as the people around them break into claps in appreciation of the band. Jason gives a small smile. He smiles back.

"Alright," he agrees. "Let's give it a try."

* * *

The target is the same, and he doesn't die by either of their standards though they do leave him out in the hedge maze drugged into unconsciousness and what's going to be a hell of a hangover in the morning. How, exactly, it goes from that to him grinding Jason into a wall in a secluded corner of the house (and past a locked door) he's not one hundred percent sure, but he's not complaining.

Jason, pinned beneath him and giving strained, breathless little sounds of pleasure, doesn't seem to be complaining either.

His teeth leave a mark just low enough on Jason's neck that it can be hidden by the collar of his shirt. Jason's nails leave scratches on his low back that sting as his shirt brushes them. He isn't sure which of them actually goes for the belts and zippers of the pants, but he knows it's his hand that wraps around both of them and makes Jason bang his head into the wall with a hiss, and he knows it's Jason that initiates the first kiss, breath heavy between them and more teeth and tongue than any actual romantic notion of it.

Jason comes first, muffling a moan against his jaw, and he only has a few moments to really enjoy the feeling of that before he's being flipped and pushed back against the wall in turn as Jason sinks to his knees. He wraps his clean hand in Jason's hair, holds him close, and fucks into the hot, perfect mouth until he comes too. Jason's nails leave more scratches along his hips in the process, but he's swallowed without even a hint of complaint, and then Jason stands and presses him into the wall, pulling him into another kiss.

He gives a moan into it, clutching at Jason's jacket and, for once, ignoring the weapons hidden beneath the fabric. Jason doesn't go far even when they separate, forehead pressed to his and breath still heavy, the air still charged around them even if the tension is easier now.

And then Jason's chuckling, and he can't help joining in after a moment, the endorphins in his system making him just a little bit high. More than enough to join in on laughter, with the feel-good chemicals sliding through his veins. He loosely holds onto Jason's arms, eyes closed and soft laughter escaping him, until they finally fall into companionable silence.

Jason kisses him again; properly this time, soft and brief. Then says, "You can't come back to my hotel room."

He opens his eyes, meets the blue-green gaze looking slightly down at him. "You can't come back to mine either."

A pause, and then Jason murmurs, "Maybe we could get one together? This was… good. Nice to not have to hide my weapons."

"Talking about your knives or that mouth of yours?" he teases, and Jason sucks in a breath and _flushes_ , sharp and startled. "Oh," he starts, lifting a hand to tug through Jason's hair, "I think that's a good idea. I don't think I'm done with you yet, Jay. Not by a long shot."

Jason gives a slow grin. "You _did_ tell me that you were used to leading. I haven't seen that yet."

"So this doesn't count?"

"Oh, not even a little," Jason says, pressing him into the wall. "I mean, _you're_ the one pinned here, aren't you?"

"I wasn't," he points out. Then he moves to twist Jason's hands off him, hooking one leg and then turning and _slamming_ him into the wall hard enough to get a groan and a small curse, but followed by a breathless laugh so he's still _well_ within the limits of comfort. "There, that better for you?"

Jason grins a little wider, meeting his gaze again. "A little." Jason tugs him in closer, wrapping fingers in his hair and dragging him into another kiss, this one back to the graze of teeth and the shove of a tongue. He presses back, but then Jason nips at his lip and breaks away to hiss, "I don't feel like having to be quiet much longer. We should get that hotel room before we go any deeper down the rabbit hole, hm? Unless exhibitionism is your thing."

"Not usually," he admits, and very reluctantly lets go. "You following my lead?"

"For now."

When they're done back up, and _don't_ look too much like they just did exactly what happened, he takes Jason's hand and pulls him in for a last, deeper, kiss. Jason seems as unwilling to leave it as he does, but eventually they part, and Jason keeps him close for a second, keeps fingers in his hair, before letting go.

Jason smiles, crooked now and rougher than anything he'd show out there among the civilians. "You’ve got my attention; show me how you dance, Roy."

He smiles back, and pulls Jason towards the door.


End file.
